Theatre people love to talk about how neurotic actors are. I had a boyfriend once who would always say, “everyone comes to theatre because there’s something wrong with them.” I disagree with the idea… but if we’re going to point fingers at who’s really neurotic, can we talk about directors?

I’ve now been on both sides of the table. All sides of the table, really. I’ve acted, directed, taught, stage managed, all of the above. I know how taxing and just plain difficult directing is. The level of organization, thoughtfulness, and artistry required to mount a full production really is something else. I think maybe you do have to be just a little neurotic to pull it all off. And man, I’ve met some neurotic directors in my day.

Case in point: If you spend enough time around directors, you’ll probably start to pick up on a recurring sentence. The million-dollar phrase: “I’ll never cast [xyz person] again.” This statement gets wildly misused and overused.

The fact is, a lot of (not very good) directors use directing as an excuse to go on a bit of a power trip.

It’s not that I can’t imagine circumstances for a director to blacklist an actor. If an actor is a genuine safety threat to those around them, for instance, a director absolutely should blacklist that actor. The thing is, this sentence rarely follows an explanation of such a circumstance. My issue with the phrase is that it’s often used in some very judgmental and even occasionally ableist or classist ways.

More directors need to consider that many of the problems that might make an actor “undesirable”– problems getting to rehearsal, difficulty keeping track of materials, recurrent forgetfulness or spaciness– are often issues resulting from unmet access needs. It’s unfair to pin the blame for flakiness on a young actor who relies on their family for transportation to rehearsal, for instance. Actors who can’t afford medication for disorders affecting cognitions attention, and memory are likely to be forgetful, and no amount of “just trying harder” can solve this.

If it sounds like I’m advocating for actors behaving irresponsibly and directors just picking up the slack for them– I’m not. What I’m saying is that what we categorize as “irresponsible behaviors” are very often outside the control of the people we’re calling irresponsible. By that metric, they’re not irresponsible at all. They just need some help.

Whether or not a show’s production staff are the appropriate people to provide that help is certainly another question entirely. The staff of a community theater production of The Little Mermaid definitely aren’t responsible for figuring out how to get necessary medication to their actors.

I do think, though, that it’s generally the responsibility of all people to avoid punishing people for things outside their control.

I can’t say for sure why most directors come to directing, but I would guess that many do because they enjoy working collaboratively with a big group of artists to build a show. They have a vision, and they want to share that vision with a group of actors. Generally, I think most directors approach the process with good intentions. Somewhere along the way, though, these intentions often get muddied.

When someone’s access needs aren’t properly met, it causes problems for that person. And yes, those problems ripple out and often effect everyone around them. Someone who is chronically late for rehearsal problems for themself and others. As a director, it can be tempting to crack down on this behavior. But what if the problem is something the actor truly can’t help?

In workshops with Theatrical Intimacy Education, the subject of “trauma-informed” practices comes up frequently. The concept as TIE uses it seems to have been adapted from the work of teachers. In education, it’s understood that if a child never has their homework done, it probably has more to do with a lack of support at home than it does with the child’s own personal failings.

Approaching the problem from this angle, then, directors are encouraged to begin asking questions rather than punishing: “I notice you’ve been late for rehearsals recently. What can I do to help?”

As an example, if an actor is chronically late for rehearsals, perhaps it’s because their parents are an unreliable source of transportation. Perhaps the production staff could discuss if the actor would be comfortable carpooling with another actor. Alternatively, if at all possible, they could consider switching the actor’s call time to be half an hour later each day, which would give them enough time to secure a ride reliably.

When directors begin to ask questions and seek information from the position of trying to help rather than punish, the problems can be solved without the need to removing a struggling actor from their artistic outlet altogether.

As it is, theater is a very exclusionary art form for one that so often claims to be deeply inclusive. Actors are generally expected to be not just able-bodied, but remarkably so: disabled actors are largely swept to the side, and triple threats are in high demand. In his book Broadway Bodies, Ryan Donovan calls these extremely trained, physically actors hyper-abled. As the book goes on to explore, though, there’s more to the Model Theatre Artist than ability. Take one look at Broadway or West End and you’ll see that the vast majority of actors favored by the current system are also white, skinny, and muscular.

Actors who don’t fit this mold are pushed out of the spotlight in more or less subtle ways. And these are only the things that are visible. In an art form so inherently competitive as theater, where reputation is recognized as a key element of casting, invisible obstacles like systemic insecurities are easily swept under the rug. Directors want to work with the actors who will be the least difficult, and nonstandard access needs can place an actor in that category.

If we are committed to making theater an inclusionary space– and I think many directors do feel strongly about this goal– then we need to think about how our practices are exclusionary. Barring people who need help from the cast list because “they’re too flaky” is, without a doubt, exclusionary.

Obviously, there are a lot of shades of gray in this conversation. Perhaps someone is flaky just because they’re flaky, and that’s all there is to it– but investigating is worthwhile either way. After all, isn’t “how can I help?” a much easier way of approaching the “you were late for rehearsal AGAIN” conversation? It’s both effective and much less confrontational than the traditional approach– which makes it a winner for me.

Begin by approaching “problematic” behavior with a desire to learn and help rather than punish. This is a necessary first step towards building healthier, more inclusive standards for us all.